All Who Dream (Letting Go) (35 page)

“Jackson,
why don’t you come in, and I’ll just go grab us a pizza next door? We don’t
need to go out anywhere tonight. I just want to be with you.”

He stared
at me for a moment and eventually nodded. I smiled, reveling in the
mini-victory. I left him inside to make the call while I ran to grab the best
New York Style pizza I’d ever had. Cody and I had enjoyed several slices there
when he was here.

On the
one hand, the idea of leaving Jackson in four days made my stomach hurt, but
the idea of seeing my Cody again filled me with joy. It was hard to reconcile
one feeling over the other.

When I
got back, I knocked twice, but there was no answer. I used my keycard then,
balancing the large box as I used my foot to prop and hold the door. Before I
had even turned around, I knew what had happened. He was asleep.

His suit
coat was off, as was his tie and shoes, and he was spread out on my couch. I
quietly set the pizza box down and went into my bedroom to change into my yoga
pants and t-shirt. If he was going to get comfortable, I would too. He snored
softly as I made myself a plate of pizza and grabbed book three in his collection.

I read
for over two hours. He never woke up.

I put the
book down as I realized that once again I was an anxious ball of worry over the
characters that Jackson had created. My gasps were going to be responsible for
waking him if I didn’t stop soon. I picked up my phone and texted with Cody,
him on Charlie’s phone, and then finally went into my bedroom to sort through
my laundry. One of the nicest perks of living at the T. Ross building—laundry
service. I would miss that.

Finally,
I heard some movement. I
peeked
my head out into the
living area and Jackson was upright, but still looked half-asleep as he
scrubbed his hands over his face. I walked out quietly.

“Hey,
feel rested?” I asked.

He looked
up at me, a bit startled and then smiled lazily.

“You should
have woken me up,” he scolded sleepily.

“No. I’m
glad you got some sleep. I kept myself busy, although I’m afraid your pizza’s
cold. Can I warm it up for
you.
”

He just
started at me, blinking.

“What?” I
looked down at myself self-consciously. Okay, so I did look a little homely—or
a lot. I felt my cheeks heat.

He held
out his hand to me and pulled me down next to him. “You’re too good to me,
Angie,” he whispered into my hair.

Goosebumps
traveled up my arms and neck. “There’s no such thing as too good.”

He
laughed. “That sounds like something I’d say.”

I kissed
him on the cheek and got up to grab his dinner. Sadly, he left soon after. So
to soothe myself in his absence, I picked up his book. Only I didn’t start
where I left off, I went to my suitcase and pulled out book five and flipped to
the back. I needed resolution, something happy, something promising.

But that
was not what I got.

I stared
at the last page, wishing the words to rearrange themselves. Wanting the ending
to say something other than what it did. But there it was. Jackson did not
write a happily ever after. He had written quite the opposite. I didn’t know
what made me sadder: That the characters I loved didn’t love each other enough?
Or that Jackson’s writing was behind that outcome.

Rosie may
have been right when she quoted that
endings
are only as great as the journey that made them
, but what’s the point of a
journey if it ends in heartbreak?

My sleep
was fitful at best.

I stayed
in the car, watching for Jackson to walk out of his building Thursday night,
the night of the National Publishers Association dinner. I literally stopped
breathing when I saw him. Someone with his good looks should come with a
warning label.
Seriously.
I had to work so hard to fit
into the “not-so-bad-when-I-try” category, when Jackson rocked the
“super-hot-and-didn’t-try” category. He ducked into the car and still I
couldn’t exhale.

His smile
spread wide as his eyes found me.

“You
know, I used to think I was partial to certain dresses you wear, but I’m
starting to think my partiality has nothing to do with the dress, and
everything to do with the woman who wears it.”

I finally
released the breath I’d been holding and smiled back at him, cheeks heating.

“You look
really…good, Jackson.” I said.

He smiled
and reached for my hand, lacing my fingers through his. “You’re the only thing
that will make this night bearable for me—I hope you realize that. These things
are the bane of my existence.”

I laughed
as he winked at me.

We talked
for the next hour and thirty minutes, avoiding mention of my pending departure,
his secretive work drama or my interview tomorrow. What was left was a lot of
hyperbole. We each asked each other a “what if” question that had to be
answered. The game made the time go by quickly and taught me a lot more about
the man I had fallen so deeply in love with in just six short weeks.

The
dinner was held as a massive building that looked like a replica of the
Coliseum. It was gigantic. There were fountains, gardens and pathways
everywhere I looked. It was gorgeous. We were far enough away from the city
that I could see the outlines of the stars in the dimming night sky. The amount
of people who were there for the event was overwhelming. Close to a thousand at
least.

Jackson
linked my arm and walked me into the grand ballroom, where we found our seats.
Cocktails and appetizers were served shortly after and the speaker—an elderly
gentleman—was quoting out of his favorite books of the year when my phone
vibrated over and over. Jackson looked at me with concern as I quietly took it
out of my silver clutch.

Rosie.

She had
left a message. I bit my lip and Jackson nodded his head toward the door, as if
signaling me to go ahead and call her back. I smiled, relieved at his sensitivity.
Cody wasn’t with Rosie tonight, but still, she knew I was coming to this
dinner. We had texted about it earlier this afternoon.

I excused
myself as quietly as could, lifting my dress a tad to walk without stumbling
over the hem. As I made my way outside, my phone struggled to find a good
signal. Every time I click into her voicemail the call would drop. I walked a
little farther around the building, focused on the screen of my phone.
Still nothing.
I lifted it up and moved several feet back
and forth, even though rationally, I’m sure this made no difference at all.

“Ms.
Flores?”

I turned,
startled.

“Stewart—I
mean, Mr.
Vargus
? Hi, how are you?”

“Doing
about the same as you it looks like. I was trying to return a call, but can’t
seem to find any good coverage out here for some reason. Glad to know it’s not
just me.”

I smiled
as he did the same. His face was so kind—the type of face you’d picture your
favorite uncle having, or your favorite English teacher. I imagined him to be
in his early forties. His eyes were warm, though the sudden awkwardness between
us was quite apparent.

“I uh…I
heard about your interview tomorrow,” he said.

My
stomach knotted, unsure where this was going. I didn’t need to hear anything
negative, especially not the night before I head into the ring with her.

“Yes,” I
said simply.

“Well, I
think you’ll do excellent. You’re quite well-spoken, and I have every
confidence that you can put that miserable woman in her place.”

“Thank
you—that vote of confidence means a lot. I’m not sure how it will go to be
honest, but I feel as ready as I can be.”

“That’s
good, I-”

“What are
you doing, Stewart?”

We both
turned as Jackson made his way over to us—anger on his face.

I don’t
know why I felt guilty in that moment, but I did. It was like I’d just been
caught fraternizing with the enemy—
but
why was Stewart the enemy?
Jackson’s hand was on my arm before I could
speak. It was a protective gesture, but again, I had no idea why he was trying
to protect me from Stewart. My face grew hot with embarrassment as I looked
from one man to the other.

“Stay
away from her,” Jackson growled at him in a tone that made my bones hurt.

Stewart
lifted his hands in surrender. “Jackson, we were just having an innocent
conversation.”

“Innocent?
Yeah, I know all about your definition of
innocent
,
Stew.”

Though
Stewart’s eyes hardened, his face remained relaxed. I didn’t know how that was
possible. The tension made me want to cry, but I didn’t. Jackson never reacted
poorly due to awkwardness…in
fact,
I’d only seen this
reaction from him one other time, at the board meeting. Coincidentally, Stewart
was there for that as well.

“Jackson,
he’s right, it was nothing-”

His brows
furrowed in response to me, our faces close. “Don’t defend him. He doesn’t
deserve it,” Jackson looked back at Stewart. “Believe
me,
he has no problem taking care of himself.”

This
finally seemed to spark a reaction from Stewart. His face had lost the peaceful
look of a minute earlier, and now it was hard as granite.

“You have
some nerve, Jackson.”

I
flinched, as Stewart stepped toward us, but Jackson held my arm tight.

“Isn’t it
about time you move on from your conspiracy theories? You weren’t the only one
who lost someone that day.” Stewart gestured toward me, as if I was some kind
of solution to this mounting tension.

My head
started to pound as Jackson stepped in front of me, dropping my arm in the
process. I didn’t know what to do. It was like a bad bar scene, though no one
was drinking, and everyone was in formalwear.

Jackson’s
voice dropped several decibels. “You mean I wasn’t the only one who lost
someone they
loved
that day…right,
Stew?”

When
Stewart threw the punch, Jackson must have been anticipating it because he
quickly dodged left, yet somehow his bottom lip was dotted with blood when he
shoved Stewart back. The fresh distance seemed alert them both to their
surroundings—and to me.

Time was
an irritating scab—one I wanted to scratch in order to alleviate the itch
underneath. Suddenly, I knew exactly what it felt like to be on one of those
trashy talk-shows, the ones where half-way through the curtain was pulled back
for one last shocking reveal: This was the big reveal.

Stewart
was the friend of Jacob’s who’d been with
Livie
when
she died.
Had he been in love with her,
too?

“I apologize
for this, Mrs. Flores. Things got out of control. It won’t happen again.
Goodnight,” Stewart said before walking off.

I nodded
after him, purposefully keeping my eyes off Jackson.

“Goodnight.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Jackson
bent over a railing nearby, pressing his split lip with his hand as he stared
into the pond. My insides quaked with so many emotions at once. I didn’t know
where to start—but one thing was for sure, I wasn’t leaving until I was
finished. I wanted every piece of information…and I wanted it now.

I
deserved that much.

My heels
clicked against the paved pathway, and Jackson turned his head, standing
upright as if preparing himself for battle.

“I didn’t
mean for that to get so out of hand,” he said.

I glared
at him, hand on hip. “Stewart was the one with
Livie
when she died? That’s why you hate him?”

His face
darkened at my tone. I continued, undeterred.

“Were you
accusing him of having feelings for her? Tell me what’s going on, Jackson.”

His eyes
found mine again, begging me to understand. I waited impatiently for him to
continue.

“Stewart’s
known my family since I was a boy. He and Jacob were best friends growing up,
and he was my father’s assistant before Jacob took over the company. He was
next in line because I had always told them I didn’t want to be involved in the
family business.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “While I was busy
writing, Stewart offered to escort
Livie
to different
functions and events. And like the selfish idiot I am, I agreed. I trusted him.
My family
still
trusts him.”

He
practically spit the last words out of his mouth.

“What
happened?”

“I found
a letter from her—to him, explaining that she needed to put some distance
between them…that her feelings were becoming something more than friendship and
that she loved me—that she was going to marry me.” He looked at me. “She was
with him when she died.”

“But what
did Stewart
do
, Jackson? Do you think
he had some plan to steal her away from you?” I asked.

“Does it
matter? They had feelings for each other!”

“Seems
like you’re assuming a lot based on one letter. What if it was one-sided? What
if she was taking a precaution by intending to give him that letter—and his
feelings for her were only platonic? There are a thousand scenarios Jackson-”

“Yes, and
I’ll never know the truth, will I? Because I killed her before I could ask any
of those questions!”

My mouth
hung open as I let his words burrow into my heart. Tears pooled in my eyes as
Jackson held his ground—his eyes like steel.

“Your
drive to stay at the company has more to motivation behind it than your guilt
over
Livie
and Jacob…doesn’t it?”

He didn’t
answer, which was my answer.

“Why,
Jackson—
say
it!”

“Because I don’t want
him
to have it!”